Settling the Score (The Summer Games #1)(13)

Kinsley held up her hand to stop them. “She doesn’t know him. He was clearly waving at the juice man,” she said, motioning to the elderly Brazilian man behind the counter.

I forced myself to move forward in line and I kept my eyes trained ahead of me, but the excitement behind me was too hard to ignore. People whispered, girls squealed, and cameras flashed as Freddie took photos with his fans. I moved forward and ordered a strawberry banana protein smoothie, and as I turned to find a seat with Kinsley, I ignored every urge to look in his direction as I passed. It was painful to deny myself that simple pleasure, and I was still lamenting that fact when he bent out of line and reached for my hand. His palm touched mine and my heart stopped. He gripped my hand tightly, just for a moment, then let it go.

Hhhhoooookkkkaay. I was definitely having a heart attack. This is the end. I’m going to die in a smoothie line. I couldn’t breathe and my chest hurt, and then he smiled and started speaking, but I couldn’t hear him over the sound of my heart.

“I’m sorry,” I accidentally shouted. “What?”

He smiled wider, reveling in the fact that he’d knocked me off my senses. I could only focus on his eyes, at the exact shade of light brown that promised to be my demise.

“Your smoothie,” he said with a smooth British accent. “You’ve left it.”

I whipped around to see a girl behind the counter waving my smoothie in the air like a metronome. “Don’t you want this?” she asked, confused.

I cringed. Had I not grabbed it already? Apparently not. I hid my face as I walked back and took it from her hand. Every single person in line trailed my movements, either because they thought I was a little off my rocker, or because Freddie Archibald had just reached out and held my hand. His touch had been warm and his palm was massive, wrapping around mine with no effort at all.

I’d stood in line for a smoothie for a solid twenty minutes and then I’d walked away empty-handed, too dumbstruck to care. All because of Freddie-freaking-Archibald—who, by the way, was still watching me.

I forced myself to make eye contact with him as I passed, and he smiled a secret little smile I knew I’d be dissecting for hours.

“See you around,” he said, and the words felt more like a promise than a dismissal.

Kinsley and Becca didn’t say a word as we took our seats at a table far, far away from Freddie and his adoring fans. I purposely positioned myself with my back to him and stared at my smoothie.

“Honestly, Andie, you need to cool your jets with Freddie—”

Kinsley started rambling on again, but I wasn’t listening. She was going to tell me to “focus on soccer” and “stay away from boys” and “don’t party” and “keep your head in the game”, and I didn’t want to hear it.

I pulled my phone out of my purse to find a text message my mom had sent right after I’d hung up on her. I swiped it open much to the dismay of Kinsley.

“Andie!” Kinsley said. “Are you listening?”



Mom: You didn’t let me finish! Frederick is betrothed. Can you believe it? Maybe if the two of you become friends you’ll be invited to a royal wedding! Or maybe he has a friend…another duke perhaps! Meemaw would be so excited!



NO! Betrothed? Betrothed? No. No. No.

My stomach hurt. This wasn’t right. He was supposed to be single. We were supposed to touch hands and exchange sly smiles and…

“He’s betrothed?” I asked, hearing the shock in my voice.

I dropped my phone on the table and Kinsley leaned forward to read the text message. When she was done, she glanced up at me with a pitiful frown.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all morning. Freddie is set to marry some girl named Caroline Montague. The betrothal was announced a few weeks ago.”

That made no sense.

Who the hell was Caroline Montague?





CHAPTER EIGHT


Andie




AFTER HEARING THE news of Frederick’s betrothal, I sat immobile, absorbing the news in shocked silence as my smoothieless stomach began to grumble. My mother had attached a Daily Mail news story to her text message and though I didn’t want to, I read it. It highlighted the life and love of Caroline Montague and chronicled her high society British upbringing. Her father, while not titled himself, had invented the software used in most vending machines, and subsequently leveraged his earnings to put his hand in just about every business operating in London. She was worth more than most countries and the news story hinted that their betrothal would unite two illustrious European families, from the old world and the new.

There was a photo of Freddie and Caroline from their teenage years at the very bottom of the article. Apparently they’d been friends since childhood and it had come as a shock to no one when their families announced the betrothal. Caroline Montague was beautiful with delicate features and long blonde hair. She was styled “The People’s Princess Diana”, beloved by all and philanthropic to the core. How lovely.

I wanted to feel heartbroken and betrayed by the news. My gut told me I’d been wronged, but then common sense chimed in and leveled with me. I was not in love with Frederick Archibald. People do not fall in love overnight. I was merely excited by the idea of Freddie the same way I got excited by two-for-one ice cream sundaes at McDonald’s. I couldn’t fault myself for it. I had working lady parts and a pulse, therefore the sight of Frederick Archibald had seemed alluring. No big deal. I could move on. There were plenty of other fish in the sea (probably the most applicable that phrase would ever be). The games were filled with sexy athletes whose only baggage was of the carryon variety. Sure, Freddie’s jaw was chiseled from Grecian marble and his boyish grin had topped a BuzzFeed poll in 2014 entitled “Panty-Melting Smiles”, but there were plenty of attractive people in Rio. Thousands of them, in fact. On to the next.